People often talk about their desire for a chauffeur or a chef or a massage therapist to be at their beck and call. And I would absolutely enjoy any and all of these services. They would make my life easier and more comfortable and allow me more time and energy to live the rest of my life.

So if you’re offering to send me a chauffeur or chef or massage therapist, I won’t say no.

But oh to have a personal phlebotomist. One who finds your vein—no matter how deep or how narrow or how inconveniently located due to NO FAULT OF YOUR OWN—instantly. One who slides that needle in so quickly and seamlessly that you hardly feel a thing. One whose technique is so good that the necessary blood sample is collected in a minute, or the IV is placed and secured before you need to start taking deep breaths, or the blood donation needle is comfortably inserted so you can start reading your book. A personal phlebotomist who never ever ever complains about your veins, because, again—THEY ARE THE VEINS YOU WERE BORN WITH AND YOU DID NOT REARRANGE THEM JUST TO ANNOY ANYONE—but simply looks at your arm, asks you to make a fist, and gets their job done painlessly and efficiently and puts that cotton ball and bandaid on you before you even realize you’re finished.

Thankfully these angel phlebotomists exist at my primary care physician’s office. As far as I can tell they are not to be found in the ER, at the Red Cross (except on rare and momentous occasions), or most any other doctors’ offices.

It is fortunate that I do not need such a service every day, when I do, I wish I could snap my fingers and have my perfect personal phlebotomist appear. My arms and I will be eternally grateful.